


Reeds Vs Brass

by rokabug



Series: Reeds vs Brass [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternative Universe- High School Band, Background Polyamory, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pansexual Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokabug/pseuds/rokabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David Washington was forced to transfer to Blood Gulch High School and join the band there after his former school closed down, taking the band program with it. Unluckily for him he was put in charge of helping the Brass section to develop into acceptable musicians. As time goes on he realizes maybe the Reeds and the Brass aren't as bad as he once thought... Especially Tucker who turns out to be much more than a lazy, crude trombone player.</p><p>(Temporary Hiatus!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    Year three of high school had just begun for David Washington, the school flooded with new faces as the incoming freshman scuttled through the halls, baby-faced and anxious and upper classmen sneered and glared as those they didn’t recognize passed by. Late last year, his high school had closed, leaving all it’s inhabitants to transfer to the only other high school nearby, Blood Gulch High School. The school was sweltering hot and at least a quarter of the classes had broken AC; the smell of the locker room was close to unbearable and could be smelt from up to 100 feet away. The bell rung, relieving him from the stuffy air of his English class, sweat trickling down his back causing him to shift uncomfortably as his backpack rubbed against it. Looking down at his schedule he let out a sigh of relief at his last class of the day, band. At his old school, their band was fantastic and Wash and his friends were part of the renown Drumline program, therefore transferring together to Blood Gulch High School once their beloved school had closed.

    Noticing the familiar faces of York and North, Wash jogged to catch up, clapping both of them on the back, “Hey guys!”

    The two looked back, startled before York broke into a wide smile, “Wash! Hey man!” York swung an arm around Washington’s shoulder before quickly pulling it back in, “What the fuck dude! You feel like you’ve been sitting in a sauna!”

    Washington, ran his hand over his neck, grimacing when he felt his hand become slick with sweat, “This school is disgusting…” This was never a problem back at his old school. PFL High School was completely indoors with the most advanced and efficient air conditioning units set up, but it seemed as though nothing would be the same at this run down excuse for a school.

    North chuckled, “Well I can’t say I disagree.” The three arrived at the door, exchanging nervous glances, “Tex’s boyfriend is part of the band here so it can’t be that bad right?” North held the door open for York and Wash to walk in, freezing in place at the smell of garlic and grease that assaulted their senses.

    “Whoa... What the fuck…” York began before a slice of pizza was thrust in front of his face.

    They turned to see a fat Hawaiian kid, cradling a box of pizza and waving a slice around, “More of you guys, huh?” He handed York a slice, “Welcoming gift.”

    “Um…” Wash managed staring dumbly at the boy in front of him.

    “Sorry man, only enough for one of you, a man’s gotta eat.”

    “Grif! Clean up you useless slob!” a voice shrill with frustration rang out, causing the Hawaiian student, presumably Grif, to sigh and reluctantly put down his box on top of a flute case. Washington cringed at the thought of what shape the instrument inside was in if Grif was as careless as he seemed.

    “I’m busy Simmons! Go stick your nose in someone else’s business,” Grif grumbled, brushing off a few crumbs from his orange t-shirt.

    A lanky teen with red hair and freckles speckling his pale complexion, appeared from behind the mound of music stands, “Oh! Some more newbies!” Simmons straightened out, smoothing out the wrinkles in his maroon shirt with his hand before stretching it out towards Wash, “I’m Richard Simmons! You can just call me-”

    “Call him Dick,” Grif barked, cutting him off.

    Simmon’s shot him a glare, “Call me Simmons,” he corrected. He stomped over to Grif, picking up the box of pizza and dangling it threateningly over the trashcan that was overflowing with garbage.

    Wash took this opportunity to scan the room, watching as a voluminous girl with blue lipstick in a tight yellow dress drew on the whiteboard, giggling to herself as her drawing’s took shape into crude scribblings of penises. A boy in pink with tanned skin and blond hair, blew into a Saxophone, frowning when the instrument let out an airy honking noises. He peered into it before removing a sock that had been stuffed inside. A pale white kid with dark hair, which Wash recognized as Tex’s boyfriend, Church (named after his father, their previous Band Director), conversed with Tex and Connie, whipping his head around to snap at a tall Filipino boy with a lopsided grin and a royal blue hoodie. Noticing the familiar faces of Maine, Carolina, South, Wyoming and Florida milling around as well caused him to feel a bit better about how horrible his day had been thus far.

    Wash’s train of thought was interrupted as the door of the band roomed slammed open, revealing a short black kid with cropped hair and the brightest blue eyes Washington has ever seen which couldn’t be genetically possible, Wash thought. “Tucker is in!” the kid announced, “Bow chika bow wow!” At his side swung a trombone case, the clasps of the case rusted and the outside chipped. Of course he would play a trombone. Of course.

    Wash looked around to see that York and North had migrated over to their old friends, leaving him standing in the middle of the messy band room alone and confused. “Where is your band director?!” he wailed. The room fell silent and all heads turned towards him, the silence lingering before the blue-eyed boy, Tucker, grinned.

    “We don’t have a band director,” he said languidly, leaning against a music stand.

    “What?” Wash and the other new students questioned in unison, bewildered.

    “He’s right!” chimed the boy in the pink, “I’m Donut by the way!”

    Carolina stepped towards Wash and Donut. “Then… who runs this?” she asked, gesturing to the room.

    “Well Sarge is kind of the leader for the woodwind instruments! You can call us the reeds though!”

    “Who’s Sarge?”

    “The PE teacher!” Donut chirped.

    “...What?!” Carolina managed to say.

    Wash shook his head, almost unable to believe what he was hearing, “Then what about the brass instruments?”

    Tucker laughed, “We just fuck around all period. Church thinks he is the leader but he really isn’t. How could a trumpet ever lead?” That earned Tucker a glare from Church who had his arms crossed around his chest impatiently.

    Church looked at Wash, “Listen Washington, we had a band director but not anymore. The school is too lazy to shut us down so we just run this joint.”

    “So you don’t have a Drumline or a Colorguard?” Connie asked, drawn into the conversation.

    “Nope. Feel free to make them as long as you can take care of it. No one cares what we do.” And with that the chatter returned back to the usual, and Wash’s friends huddled up to discuss the future of a potential drumline program. Carolina was on the phone, explaining the situation to somebody passionately. “Listen father we need an instructor! Not you necessarily. Just someone!” Realization hit Wash. Carolina’s father was their band director at PFL High School. She was trying to bring him to Blood Gulch High School. “...Okay thanks, father.”

    “What’s the news C?” York asked, everyone watching Carolina, waiting for answers.  

    “He said he will discuss this with the school administration. He may take over running the Drumline program here.”

    “Hey what about us?” Church protested, “We aren’t the drumline!”

    “Dude, you know your dad doesn’t care about you, Church,” South said.

    “Ouch,” Church grumbled, “True but still, ouch.” Everyone knew of Carolina and Church’s relationship with their Dad. Neither was particularly positive but Church was treated as though he didn’t even exist. Unfair honestly.

    The day ended with Washington trudging home alone, the summer sun beating down on his freckled neck, leaving it reddened and stinging. As he arrived his mother cheerfully greeted him with a hug, asking him about his day and only receiving a grunt in response. He nudged his cats, Ari and Skyler, off his bed before flopping down and staring at his phone. His phone buzzed as he received a message from York.

 **York:** Hey man you okay? You seemed down?

 **Wash:** Can you call me?

 **York:** Sorry I can’t I’m on a date with the bae.

 **Wash:** Which one?

 **York:** Both ;-)

    Wash sighed and turned off his phone, curling onto his side and squeezing his eyes closed, the day seeming like a bad nightmare that he would eventually wake up from. He fell asleep early that night after a quick shower, all the new faces he saw today haunting his dreams.

Washington walked into band the next day as the bell was ringing, noticing everyone crowded around someone which he recognized as the Director. “You already got the job?” His comment earned him a glare from Carolina who signalled at him to be quiet.

    “Yes David Washington. I will continue with coaching the Drumline,” the Director. “Unfortunately I have noticed that the brass instruments need some assistance and I figured you would be the best for the job.”

   Was Wash hearing him right? In charge of these idiots? “What?” he asked meekly.

    The Director continued, “You will be taking a break from Drumline this season to aid with the creation of an actual marching band. Carolina will occasionally help you when she has free time. Sarge will continue with his training of the reeds.”

    Washington turned to see Tucker, the kid with the royal blue hoodie, Church, and the girl who was drawing on the board yesterday standing close to each other, holding their instruments. They introduced themselves one by one;

    “I’m Tucker! I play trombone. Well actually I don’t really play I just use it to pick up chicks. They dig it.” Tucker grinned, waiting for Wash to say something. After being greeted with silence, he began again, “I mean, do you wanna see my tromBONER?”

    “Oh my god…”

    Thankfully Church saved Wash from hearing any more of Tucker’s quips, “You know me, I play trumpet.”

    “I am Caboose! I play the Tuba!” the tall blue hoodie kid exclaimed with childish jubilation. He lifted his tuba out of it’s case with ease, lifting it up as he introduced himself.

    “And I’m Kaikaina, Grif’s sister, you can call me Sis! I play French Horn!” The girl in the yellow squealed, going to shake Wash’s hand before suddenly grasping his arm and squeezing. “Damn you are ripped, are you a cop or something?”

    Wash’s face went red as he yanked his arm out of her grasp, “I-I’m seventeen and in high school. I’m not a cop!” He sputtered.

    “Sounds like something an undercover cop would say.”

    Wash was about to respond when he felt someone else grab his arm and squeeze. Spinning around he found Tucker staring up at him, hand’s locked firmly on Wash’s freckled arm, feeling the muscle under it. Tucker looked at him with wide eyes. “What?” he said innocently. “I like to touch a nice bod as much as the next guy.”

    Wash felt his face grow increasingly red, “I don’t even know you people! What is wrong with you all?!” He stepped away from them, looking at the members of the Drumline with pleading eyes.

    “Well looks like you are all getting along well. If you need anything we will be training outside,” He gestured for the others to pick up their drums and follow him as he left the band room. North and York waved goodbye as they shuffled outside, shit-eating grins plastered on their faces.

    As they left, a gruff voice called out, “Well looks like there is a new dirty Brass! Come on boys, we need to step up our game! ten laps!”

    “What the fuck Sarge this is band not the army!” whined Grif.

    “Insubordination! That will be another five laps!” Sarge ordered.

    Wash had a feeling this was going to be a hard year, and he still had one more to go if he wanted to graduate from this hell-hole.

  



	2. Chapter 2

It was the end of the first week of school and hands down the worse practice the brass had had thus far. In the beginning, the brass players “listened” and tried to cooperate after the Director put Wash in charge, but now they were showing their true colors.

“Guess what Washingtub!” Caboose had bellowed, unable to contain his excitement.

“What is it Caboose?” Wash groaned through gritted teeth, ears ringing.

“I’m naming my tuba after you! His name is Washingtuba!”

“That’s… wonderful, Caboose,” Washington mumbled. He slumped down on a chair and put his head in his hands. Church was sick and stayed home from school and Tucker was nowhere to be seen, leaving Washington alone with Caboose and Sis. Mostly just Caboose, after all, Sis prefered being around the Reeds despite her instrument. The door to the band room swung open and in similar fashion to the first day of school, Tucker stepped in. Late. Very very late. “And what were you doing Tucker? Class is about to end,” Wash said, standing up, hands on his hips.

“None of your business, fuck off, Washington.”

“Excuse me?”

Tucker glared at him, his vivid eyes not betraying his annoyance, “You think you are the boss of us but you are a student like us. I just want Church to come back so I’m not stuck with your bitching all day.”

Washington was shocked at Tucker’s response, the sophomore was never aggressive and usually just tried to tick Wash off with suggestive jokes. He tried to think of something to say but his tongue was heavy and his mouth was dry. He watched as Tucker sulked off to sit in the corner of the band room, fiddling with his trombone.

The reeds had drifted closer where Wash was standing. “Ooh he sure seems upset!” Donut contributed. “What did you say to him Wash?”

Washington frowned, “Nothing!” He felt frustration boil up in him, shooting a nasty glance at Donut as the saxophonist put a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to talk to Wash. Washington shoved Donut away, who fell roughly, tears welling up in his eyes. “Shit, Donut I’m sorry!”

Donut stood up, brushing himself off and sniffling loudly, “It’s alright, Washington... I’m used to getting pushed around…” Grif and Simmons exchanged nervous looks, watching Donut with concern.

As Wash was going to attempt another apology Sarge stepped in, “These Reeds may be good for nothing, but if I see you lay another hand on any of them you will be answering to me, son.” Washington stepped back, sweat beading up at his forehead, nervous as the PE teacher shielded the rest of the Reeds.

The bell rung, and Washington grabbed his stuff, scurrying out of the band room, hand’s shaky. He spotted York, North, and Carolina packing up their drums and speed walked over to them, face ghostly pale.

York steadied Wash, “Yo, you doin’ alright?” He looked concerned, his good eye studying Wash’s face. In their first year a cymbal had rolled off the top shelf, falling right on York’s face, damaging his eye and leaving a nasty scar.

“Rough day?” Carolina questioned and Wash nodded. “What happened?”

“Tucker hates me, Caboose is… difficult, and Sarge threatened me…” Washington sighed, “I don’t think I’m cut out for this…”

“Nonsense, Wash. You can do it!” North cheered, patting the younger teen on the back.

Wash smiled wearily, “Thanks guys... Wanna come over today? We haven’t hung out since school started.” 

Wash’s smile fell as York replied, “Sorry man. We have plans if you know what I mean.”

“Eww, gross guys.”

“Shut up you are only seventeen you wouldn’t understand the joys of legal intercourse,” York said dramatically with a wink. 

“I’m pretty sure you’ve been doing this for at least a year-”

York put a finger in front of Wash’s face, “Shhhhh, one day you will see.”

Wash made a face, slapping away his hand, “It would be fine if it was just you and Carolina but there you go taking my only other friend besides Maine, who by the way, is always busy.”

North chuckled, “We would invite you but you know.... legality.” Wash stared at him, jaw open.

“I can’t believe you guys.”

“I know me neither. We are so lucky,” York mused, taking Carolina’s hand in one hand and North’s in the other. 

Washington sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I’ll leave you guys to it then…” He waved goodbye to his friends before continuing his walk home, kicking the rocks on the dirt path with each step. It was still sweltering hot and he regretted drinking all his water at school, feeling fuzzy and sluggish from dehydration. Not very wise of him. 

He sat down on the curb under the shade of tree which seemed to be drooping from the heat just like the rest of the city. The heat from the pavement sent waves of heat against Washington’s legs causing him to draw them close to his chest. Heat like this was awful. His house was still a long distance away and his mother couldn’t afford a car for Washington, dooming him to walk there and back each day. Passing a small, run down house he saw a hose in the front yard. Not the first time he would drink hose water, and probably not the last. Wash walked onto the front lawn, kneeling on the dry grass and turning on the hose. It seemed like no one was home, no cars were parked in front of the house and the yard was yellow and overrun with weeds. It was a surprise the water was working. 

“Hey! Who’s there!” a voice called from inside the house, causing Wash to drop the hose, startled. The door opened and out peeked a familiar face, “Wash?”

“Tucker?” Washington cursed his luck. Of course the house he tries to drink from is where a classmate lives. And not just any classmate, but one that seemed to hate his guts. “Sorry I was just… I live really far away… It was hot…” 

“Uh it’s cool man, come inside I’ll give you a water bottle or something,” Tucker suggested, stepping aside to let Wash inside.

Wash was hesitant, after all Tucker had yelled at him earlier today and now he was being strangely nice, “...Thank you, Tucker.” Tucker just hummed in acknowledgement. Wash stepped inside. The house was barely furnished and was obviously poorly taken care of. Wash decided not to question it and accepted the water gratefully. There was no AC and the only relief from the heat was from the fan plugged into the wall, circulating the stuffy air. 

“Where do you live?” Tucker inquired, sitting down on a stool, and looking at Wash.

“About an hour away up the hill,” Wash replied, sipping the water, wiping sweat from his brow. 

“Sorry bout the heat, AC is expensive,” Tucker said, absentmindedly. Something was obviously on his mind. They sat in silence, the sound of the fan whirring creating the only noise. They both turned to watch as it slowed down and eventually came to a stop. “Fuck me…” Tucker muttered, kicking the broken fan. “Hold on gonna try and fix it.” 

“Here let me help.”

“I know you think you are really great and all but I can do it.” There it was again. That hostility. 

“I’m being serious, I fix stuff all the time.”

“Oh my god stop the fucking presses. David Washington is being serious.” 

Wash looked hurt…. “I just want to help…” 

“I don’t want your help! You just seem like a show off. Like, please, I know you are good at everything. Don’t rub it in my face.” 

Washington sat down, defeated, “You know I’m the worst member of the Drumline?” Tucker turned towards Wash, his bright blue eyes filled with confusion at Wash’s words. Washington continued, “Everyone else is great with drums and the pit is amazing… But me? I’m known for getting getting the crotch of my uniform stuck to a marimba. Don’t ask how that happened. It’s a mystery to us all.”

Tucker cracked a smile, “What are you getting at?” 

Washington sighed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I just want you to know that I am far from perfect… Hell there’s a reason the Director isn’t letting me in Drumline this season…” 

Tucker looked back at the fan, fiddling with it and smiling as it turned back on, “Okay Wash.” 

“What?”

“You keep doing what you are doing. Show the Director that you are a valuable part of the team,” he stood up and grinned at Wash. “I won’t allow myself to get bossed around by you… But I won’t be a total dick either.” 

“I won’t either,” Wash said quickly.

“Won't what?” 

“Be a dick.”

Tucker’s gaze shifted to the trombone that laid discarded against the wall, before walking over to it and picking it up. He wiggled the slide back and forth before blowing in it briefly. Blue eyes slowly met gray, “Maybe that will help us all.” 

And with that Washington left to continue the walk back home, his mind numb from the surprisingly pleasant conversation with Tucker, and those vivid eyes lingering in his brain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If anyone wants to be a beta reader go ahead and send me a message either here or on my tumblr agentroka.tumblr.com  
> While I'm good at essays and such sometimes my stories end up kinda choppy. I'd love the help!


	3. Chapter 3

Week two flew by. Week three arrived and the brass began to listen more. And now, at the start at of the fourth week, Wash was leaning against the stop sign in front of a familiar house, waiting. It was 6:45 and school was going to start at 7:30, at least fifteen minutes earlier than Washington usually passes this house on his way to school. The door opened and Tucker emerged, beaming at Wash, trombone case in one hand and his backpack in the other.

“Good morning, Tucker,” Washington greeted, holding Tucker’s trombone while the shorter Brass pulled his backpack over his shoulders, loosening the straps so that it hung low. “You know backpacks look stupid like that, right?” Washington raised and eyebrow and handed back Tucker’s trombone to him.

“Good thing I’m not trying to impress you, huh, Wash?” Tucker retorted with a cheeky smile. Tucker had warmed up to Wash significantly after their conversation in Tucker’s house that day and now Wash would wait in front of his house so they could walk to school today. Under Wash’s arm was a skateboard which Tucker was ogling, “You skate?”

    “Yeah, sometimes.”

    Tucker gasped, “Could it be?”

    Wash furrowed his brows, “What?”

    “Did you bring it to impress  _ me _ ?”

    “Oh my god Tucker,” Wash rolled his eyes, “Just wanted to show you what I do in my  

free time.”

    Tucker’s face lit up, “So you are trying to impress me! Wow, Wash I’m so flattered. Go ahead and blow me away.”

    Washington ignored him and continued walking, a small smile pulling at his lips as Tucker nearly tripped on a crack in the ground as he tried to catch up. Wash paused, stepping into the middle of the empty street, looking down the hill and putting the skateboard down. He glanced over to see Tucker’s expression before pushing off the ground and jetting down the hill, zig zagging to avoid gaining too much speed.

    “Wash you are going way too fast!” Tucker jogged after Wash, his backpack flopping loosely against his back as he ran, “Oh my god I’m actually gonna witness someone getting hit by a car!”

    The end of the hill was approaching, wind rushing through Wash’s hair, his own backpack causing a bit of imbalance but he was keeping a safe speed nevertheless. Holding his breath, Wash attempted a kick flip, hoping that the skateboard would do a full 360° and not cause him to fall in front of Tucker, knowing he would never live down the humiliation. He landed it perfectly and turned to see Tucker finally reaching the bottom of the hill, trying to catch his breath.

    “Okay you asshole, I’m impressed,” Tucker panted, “Also super outta shape…”

    “Tucker that was down hill. You shouldn’t be so tired,” Wash chided, amused at Tucker’s complaint.

    “Whatever, not everyone can be ripped like you,” Tucker grunted, pulling his backpack straps, tightening it.

    “You don’t get ripped from cardio.”

    “Shut up, yes you do.”

    Wash rolled his eyes, picking up his skateboard and continuing his walk to school, Tucker trudging behind, making a show trying to emphasize his exhaustion by pausing every so often to draw in a long, shaky breath. They arrived at school ten minutes early, and at Tucker’s suggestion waited in the bandroom so that Tucker could copy some of Church’s homework before class.

    “How did Church even get it done?” Wash asked. Both Church and Tucker were equally slackers.

    “Church does the homework on the weekends and on Tuesdays while I do it on Mondays and Thursdays,” Tucker explained, “We copy each other on our off days.”

    Wash was about to say something about laziness to Tucker until Grif and Simmons emerged from the instrument closet, “Good morning guys.”

    “Huh?” Grif said, obviously distracted, “Oh yeah, ‘sup.”

    A sly smile crept on Tucker’s face as he watched Grif and Simmons approach, “What were you guys doin’ in there?”

    “Putting our instruments away,” Simmons answered quickly. A bit too quickly.

     The smile morphed into a grin, “That’s funny considering your instruments are next to the door… What “instrument” were you putting where exactly?” Tucker ‘s mischievous grin widened as Simmons’s face lit up with embarrassment as Grif grumbled under his breath, “Come on guys just admit you are totally banging.”

     “Shut up Tucker!” Simmons squawked, flailing his arms in front of his flustered face.

     Grif was silent for a moment before muttering, “Well it's not banging.”

     Everyone in the band room let out an audible gasp, Tucker’s eyes lighting up, “Grif just admitted that he and Simmons are a thing! Everyone owes me ten bucks.”

    “We aren’t a thing!” Simmons said indignantly, crossing his thin arms over his chest, pouting.

     “Well I mean-”

    “Grif! You should be siding with me!”

    Grif shrugged, “Not much point in denying it, honestly.”

     Simmons let out a frustrated wail, bickering with Grif as Tucker typed away on his phone. “Okay! I sent messages to everyone who doubted me. I expect you all to bring cash to school tomorrow,” he  exclaimed triumphantly.

    Tucker grinned as the bell rung, and Simmons and Grif scurried away, red in the face. The crowd dispersed as everyone headed off to their classes, discussing the events that had just occurred with glee. Wash waved goodbye to Tucker and the others before walking to his his first period class.

    Band went decently, aside from the Reeds. As the brass was warming up a terrified scream echoed through the room as Donut dropped his saxophone after Grif bumped into him. Simmons looked down at the dented metal, cringing slightly when one of the keys remained on the floor as Donut picked up the fallen instrument.

    Despite the damage, Donut managed to keep a smile on his face, “It’s alright, Doc can fix it!” 

    “Who’s Doc?” Wash asked, never hearing the name before. 

Tucker butted in before Donut could answer, “You know that kid with the big glasses who usually wears purple? That is Doc. He never actually fixes them correctly and actually just uses electrical tape and Vaseline.”

Wash frowned and looked around at the others’ instruments, all of which had patches of electrical tape in all different colors on them, “You guys need new instruments.”

Now Church had something to say, “Yeah, cause we are made of money.”

“It’s the school job to provide funding-”

“Wash, have you seen this school? It’s shit! And my dad doesn’t give two shits about the rest of us.”

Tucker nodded in agreement with Church, “He is right Wash,we can’t get better instruments.”

Wash was silent for a moment, “I have some instruments at home that are in okay shape. I can probably snag some of the Drumlines' old instruments that they don't use. If we ever want to get good enough to have a field show we need to have decent instruments.” Silence followed his comment, the Reeds and Brass alike had surprised looks on their faces as they blinked wordlessly at Wash. “What?”

“Wow Washington cares so much!” Caboose exclaimed, cradling his tuba and beaming at Wash.

“Oh uh, well of course I do Caboose,” Wash replied awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Grif snorted, “Why’s that? You can see how few people actually waste their time on us.”

“You guys are my friends even if you are a bunch of lazy idiots. I’m sure in time you can turn into a promising band,” Wash said without hesitation, he scanned the crowd, meeting eyes with Tucker who was smiling gently at him. Wash felt a pang in his chest, unknown why or what from, but tore his eyes away from Tucker’s nevertheless. His mouth was dry like cotton, feeling very out of place, wishing the rest of the class would stop staring at him as if he announced that he was teaching them all to fly instead of basic music. The bell rung and Wash hurried out, grabbing his stuff and setting out to begin the walk home. 

He felt someone tap on his shoulder and turned to see Tucker, “That was nice of you, Wash.”

     “I meant it.” 

     “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a filler chapter I'm so sorry I hope yall like Grimmons


	4. Chapter 4

**Tucker:** Please come over. 

**Wash:** You okay?

**Tucker:** I’m fine, please come. 

**Wash:** Omw

Washington arrived 30 minutes later, parking his bike in front of Tucker’s house, quickly chaining it to the mailbox before knocking on the door. The door opened and Tucker’s face poked out with an emotion Wash couldn’t read painting it, stepping aside so that Wash could walk in. Wash shuffled in, concerned, “What is it Tucker?”

“You are gay right?” Tucker blurted out suddenly.

Wash blinked in confusion, he wasn’t closeted, in fact he was sure the whole band was aware due to York’s desperation to reveal any and all of Wash’s personal information, but it still felt strange to hear the question, “Yeah?” 

“Would it be wrong to care about someone who didn’t support you? Like… shouldn’t you hate them?”

“I don’t think you can completely control who you care about, Tucker,” Wash replied honestly. He wasn’t quite sure where Tucker was going with this but judging by his expression it was serious. 

Tucker looked around his house, rubbing his finger across the shelf of the mostly empty bookshelf, a thin layer of dust coating his finger. He wiped his hand off in his pants before returning his gaze to Wash, “I’m pansexual.”

“Okay?” To be completely honest Wash expected that Tucker was at least bisexual based off his shamelessly flirty demeanor towards any gender. 

    Tucker nodded, obviously unsure of what to say next. He sat down on the couch, gesturing for Wash to join him, “Have you ever wondered why I live alone in this shitty house?” 

Wash hesitated before answering, “It’s crossed my mind.” It crossed his mind a lot to be honest. Everytime Washington passed by Tucker’s house he would wonder why someone as young as Tucker would be living by himself when he deserved a loving family to be by his side.

     “In junior high, I decided to experiment a lil. After all Sis was certain I wasn’t straight so I said ‘why not?’ I had to agree, a straight guy didn’t exactly swoon at the site of Chris Pratt, though they should because hot damn,” Tucker cracked a smile, his eyes flickering away from Wash’s as he told his story. The sophomore leaned back in the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes before continuing, “Grif introduced me to a guy he knew and I thought ‘why not.’ I don’t really date, so I’m still not sure what to call the relationship, but it was good. We were far from perfect and we knew it was just to test the waters, but it was just as good as being with a chick.” Tucker paused to get up and grab a bag of cheetos from the sparse cabinet, offering Washington some, which he graciously accepted. 

     “I assume it didn’t go well with your family?” Wash questioned.

    “How’d you guess?” Tucker muttered sarcastically. “It went horribly, actually. I didn’t even tell them, Church outed me.”

    “Shit, really?” 

    “It was an accident of course, but I didn’t talk to the asshole for at least a month after it happened. Church came over one day, unaware that my mom was home, and asked if ‘me and my boyfriend’ wanted to go on a double date with him and Tex. And she heard him… My mom sent Church away before slamming the door and questioning me. I couldn’t lie at that point and attempted to explain that I still like chicks but she wasn’t having it. She called up my dad and when he came back from work they said things no one should ever say to their kid. They told me to change or leave. So I said goodbye and left with nothing but my phone and a charger, and asked Grif if I could crash at his place. I honestly thought I’d go back but I never did…” Tucker took a deep breath before sitting up and cracking his eyes open to glance at Wash who was absorbing what Tucker had said.

    “So how did you end up here?” Wash managed to ask. He was lucky that his mother was supportive when he came out to her and after meeting the others at Blood Gulch High School he became increasingly thankful. Simmons has an incredibly homophobic dad, Carolina’s dad, the Director, was unsupportive of her relationship with York and North, York’s mom always pushed him to settle with Carolina and forget about North, Donut’s parents sent him to a Christian Conversion Camp causing him to move in with his grandmother, and now Tucker was revealing his story and struggle.

    “When my grandmother died she left me a bunch of money, but I didn’t work so I knew I had to be careful with how I spent it. I bought this place with the help of Church and Grif and I’ve lived here since freshman year. Grif still helps out with the promise that he can move in if he ever has to,” Tucker explained. He yawned dramatically and leaned over so that his head rested on Wash’s shoulder. Wash didn’t question, turning his head when the small action made his face heat up a little. 

“So do you hate your family?” Wash asked, knowing that Tucker’s silence was an opportunity given so Wash could ask questions. 

Tucker’s face suddenly fell once again, “That’s the thing… I should but…” his voice faltered and he breathed in and out deeply a couple times, “Today I got a phone call… My dad called me to tell me that my mom just died from a car accident.”

“Oh, shit….”

“I haven’t talked to them since I left. I know Grif’s mom called them to tell them I was safe but they didn’t care if I returned or not. So why does this hurt?” Tucker rubbed his eyes, not letting any tears fall. He looked at his phone, opening the notes and reading it over, “The funeral is in a week from today and I don’t know if I should go.” 

“It’s up to you, Tucker. It’s okay to be upset after losing someone you once cared a lot about,” Wash cautiously put an arm around Tucker, feeling as the smaller boy loosened up and leaned into the touch. 

Tucker said nothing, and instead stared blankly through the window, “It’s dark already.”

“Yeah, I got here at 6:00 and it gets dark quickly,” Wash agreed, following Tucker’s gaze. He really wasn’t looking forward to the bike ride home, especially considering how the majority of the trek was uphill. 

“Wanna spend the night?” Tucker asked, still visibly upset.

Wash turned pink, fiddling with his own phone awkwardly, “Um, lemme just tell my mom.” He silently cursed himself for acting flustered over something that friends did fairly often, but his relationship with Tucker felt different from his other friendships. He quickly called her to tell her where he was, frowning when she offered to drop off pajamas and a toothbrush. As he was about to tell her not to Tucker grabbed the phone.

“Hello, Mrs. Washington! It’s Tucker! Wash told me so much about you I can't wait to meet you!” Tucker grinned as Wash mouthed ‘fuck you’ at him, scrambling to get to the phone. “Alright, see you soon, Mrs. Washington!” he chirped hanging up and handing the phone back to Wash, “She will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Wash was about to tell Tucker off before noticing that his mood had shifted through the intercepted phone call. Wash sighed, “Alright then.” 

    Tucker beamed at him before pausing to think, “Hey wait… Is your mom hot, Wash?”

    “Tucker, what the actual fuck.”

    The younger raised his hands innocently, “I’m just asking. You are pretty hot so I figured your mom might be a milf.” 

    “I can’t believe I agreed to spending the night,” Wash said incredulously, his mouth ajar. Not taking note of Tucker’s comment he stood up to pour himself a glass of water, downing it quickly, washing it as the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Tucker scampered to the door, swinging it open to reveal a middle-aged woman with dark hair and warm brown eyes. In her hand was a bag of food from Fazoli’s, which Tucker’s eyes automatically drifted to, stomach grumbling.

“Hello, you must be Tucker,” the woman greeted, “I am David’s mom.” She saw Wash through the doorway and waved around another bag, “I brought you clothes and some other necessities.”

Tucker took the bags from her, handing them to Wash, “Do you want to come in?”

“Sorry but I work a night shift and I really need to head out soon,” she gave Wash a hug and a kiss on the cheek before giving Tucker a hug as well, “Take care of my son, Tucker.”

Tucker smiled, “I will, Mrs. Washington.” Tucker shut the door as she left, raising his eyebrows at Wash, “Take care of you, huh?”

“Stop it Tucker,” Wash grumbled, knowing where this was going.

“She thinks we are together,” Tucker snickered. 

Wash sighed, “I really don’t know why she thinks that…”

“Obviously cause I’m hot.”

“Sure, Tucker.”

And with that the two proceeded to watch old VHS on Tucker’s small TV that had no cable and a faulty screen until they fell asleep, static on the screen. It was approximately 3:00 AM when Wash woke up, his back hurting from the position he fell asleep in. Tucker was laying with his head on the arm of the couch, his feet pressing up against Wash’s leg. Standing up, Wash looked around for a bathroom where he could actually change and brush his teeth, accidentally stumbling into Tucker’s bedroom. It was small and roomy aside from the pull out couch with a teal blanket over it, a desk with Tucker’s unfinished homework scattered across it, a beanbag chair and a closet. Some clothes was littered on the floor which Wash instinctively picked up and put into a corner to create an illusion of cleanliness. He found the bathroom and returned to see Tucker now sprawled out across the whole couch, arm hanging off the edge.

He figured he should probably get Tucker up and usher him over to his bed but he didn’t have the heart to wake him.  _ Oh my god this was so cliche, _ Wash thought as he lifted Tucker up gently, shuffling over to his bed where he laid him down. Cliche but not cliche enough for Wash to lay down besides him thus trudging back to the couch where he closed his eyes, mind wandering. As he was about to sleep, it hit him; did Tucker call him hot? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day because I've had this typed out way before chapter 3. Also is Mexican/Irish

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this AU stuck in my head for 3 years and never wrote anything so here is my attempt at writing a fanfiction though I've never done it before. But I love tuckington so here we gooooo! (There will probably be around 10 chapters)


End file.
